Five times Rusty Ryan said 'I love you'
by otherhawk
Summary: Full title 'Five times Rusty Ryan said 'I love you' and the one time he meant it ' Pairings and warnings inside as I have ran out of room.


Another fic here. This is different than my other ones. It isn't nearly as cheerful, for one thing.

Oh, by the way, I try to reply to all my reviewers, but for obvious reasons, I can't reply to the anonymous ones. So, if any of them are reading this - thanks guys. Much appreciated.

Full warnings: Implied child abuse and neglect, drug use, underage drinking, homophobic language and swearing

Pairings: Rusty/Danny, Rusty/Isabel Rusty/OMC Rusty/OFCx2

Disclaimer: I don't own Ocean's 11 12 or 13, or any of the characters or plots contained therein.

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**Five times Rusty Ryan said 'I love you' (and the one time he meant it.)**

1

The first time Rusty ever says the words, he is six years old, and a good number of years away from being called any name but Robert. It's early; his father isn't awake yet, thank God, and his mother is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee and smoking her way through her first pack of cigarettes for the day. Robert normally avoids her when she smokes - it makes him cough - but this morning he walks right up to her, clutching the badly-wrapped package in his hand, and stands waiting to be noticed. He has already learnt the ways to stand and to smile in order to make adults like him, in order to make them want to give him things. He has learnt how to survive, if she would only look at him.

Miss Harris read Robert's class a book yesterday that gave him the idea. The book was about families. None of the families in the book were like Robert's. They were all happy for one thing. No-one was frightened. No-one was hurt. When the book was done, Miss Harris had talked to them about families. She had told them that it was love that makes families, and Robert had decided there and then that he wanted some.

He fidgets slightly. His mother is staring at the damp patch on the wall, and she doesn't seem to have noticed him. This wasn't part of his plan. In his plan, she looked at him, and then he told her, and then she _really_ looked at him. Looked at him like the other kid's mothers looked at _them_. And then, maybe she'd see everything, and life would get better.

She still isn't looking at him. "Mom?" he says quietly. She doesn't answer. "I got you a present." He holds out the package. The paper has slipped off it, revealing the candy bar inside. She doesn't look at it, so he places it on the table, beside her cigarettes, in case she wants it later. "It's chocolate." He had found a quarter on the street yesterday, and had run to buy the candy before anyone could take it away from him. It was only when he'd been about to tear it open that he had thought of giving it to his mother. He'd been certain that if he gave her a present, she would like him better.

"Mom?" he says again, taking a deep breath. "Mom, I love you." Please, he begged. Please look at me. Please see me. Please see the bruises, please just once, protect me. Please love me.

And then she does look at him, and just for a moment he believes his own fairy tales. Then she smiles, and it doesn't reach her eyes. "That's nice, dear." She stubs her cigarette out and reaches for another one.

Robert doesn't cry. If he's sniffling as he searches the cupboards for something to eat, it's just that he's coming down with a cold, or something. He's six now, and far too old for that.

2.

Rusty isn't exactly sure what the pills are. He knows what Jason said they were, but even at sixteen, he knows enough about how the world works to realize how little that means. But between the alcohol and the whatever-they-were, he isn't exactly in a position to care.

The girls had left a little while ago, gone off into the wood together. Rusty was pretty certain they'd gone off _together_ together, and he'd wanted to follow, but he hadn't quite been able to find his legs, so he's sitting staring at the dying bonfire with Jason, who's fiddling with a radio that Mike had been playing football with earlier. Rusty has no idea where Mike is. He and Jeannie had gone for a swim earlier, but Rusty thought they'd come back at some point. They certainly weren't here now, no it was just him and Jason and Jason was trying to fix the radio, with his long, long fingers.

Long fingers. Like a musician, that's what people said, but Rusty had heard Jason sing and if he was a musician, then Rusty was Pope. He giggles, and Jason looks over to him.

"Man, Ryan. You're totally trashed, aren't you?"

Jason's lips were fascinating as well. Rusty finds himself staring at them and giggles again. Jason laughs as well. Just then, Jason must accidentally hit on the right combination of shaking and button pressing, because the radio starts blaring out Adam and the Ants. Rusty jumps, and sees that Jason has dropped the radio in surprise. They stare at each other for a moment, and then start laughing again.

"Want to dance?" Jason asks, only it isn't really a question. Rusty nods anyway, and stands up. His legs still aren't working quite right, and he spends as much time falling into Jason as he does dancing. Jason doesn't seem to mind too much.

Rusty definitely doesn't know how he and Jason have ended up lying on the sand, kissing like it was going out of style. But his hand is down the front of Jason's pants and Jason is moaning in his ear, so it doesn't seem to matter too much. Then, when Jason brings his hand round to touch Rusty, thinking suddenly gets a lot harder. "Ohhh, I love you." he groans, not even listening to what he's saying.

Jason stops. For a moment everything is still, then Jason sits up and pulls his shirt back on. He doesn't look at Rusty.

:"I'm not queer, Ryan."

Rusty blinks. "Neither am I." he says, uneasily, but Jason still won't look at him.

"I've got to go." Jason stands up abruptly and starts to walk in the direction of town. Rusty watches him go. When he reaches the edge of the road, he turns back and yells "Just keep away from me, alright faggot?"

Rusty stays on the beach until the fire burns itself out.

3.

It really had just been about the sex, and Rusty has no idea why it was the end of the world. Karen certainly doesn't seem interested in explaining, especially if explaining was going to cut into yelling time.

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" She takes a step towards him, and Amy takes the opportunity to dart past her and run down the hallway. Rusty almost wishes he could follow.

"Karen, calm down." he tries.

"Calm down? Calm down? Who the fuck is she, Robert?"

He shrugs. "She's just someone I met at a party." Actually she was a friend from class, but he thinks that maybe playing down the whole situation was the way to go.

"Oh? And so, what, you got to talking, invited her home for a quick cup of coffee? Oh, let me guess, things got out of hand, it just happened, it didn't mean anything?"

"That's about it." he agrees, calmly.

"You _bastard_ . . . "

"We agreed we were in an open relationship." he points out quickly. "You suggested it. You said that sex wasn't the be all and end all of everything . . ."

"I never meant you were to go and find yourself something blonde and leggy, you bastard . . . "

"Karen," he catches himself yelling back, and lowers his voice, sounding as sincere as he knows how. "It was just sex. I love you."

Her eyes widen, and as he watches, she reaches out blindly towards the ashtray on the coffee table. He only just manages to duck in time.

Later, in a smoky bar, when Rusty explains everything to Danny, Danny looks at him like he's crazy. "You've got a lot to learn." he says, leaning back and blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.

Rusty takes a drink. "It was an open relationship." he says, flatly.

Danny laughs, but not unkindly. "No such thing, my friend."

4.

The thing in Philadelphia is one of the longest Long Cons Rusty has ever been involved with, and now, by the end of it, he's pretty much bored to death. The woman he's charming is definitely not his type. Oh, she's attractive enough, sure. She's also polite, earnest and very, very nice; trying to be her perfect man is driving him insane.

"It's the rhythms in Stoppard that I find so intriguing though. The sense of unchained, dissonant poetry. If it wasn't so civilized, it would be almost primal. Don't you agree, Malcolm?"

Malcolm. Rusty would swear that Danny is punishing him for something. This was the worst alias yet. He takes a bite of his lasagna, trying to buy himself time to remember everything he's ever learnt about playwrights. It isn't much. "I have to admit, I much prefer his earlier work." he says finally. That was almost always a safe statement to go with.

"Oh, well, yes of course. The Beckett influences alone . . . " she continues talking. While he listens, he goes over the vault plans in his head. He's almost certain that he can see the weak point, but they still need the codes, and a proper distraction .

"Malcolm?" he looks over at her. She's picking at her napkin. It's a nervous habit that annoys the hell out of him. "These last few weeks . . . I've really enjoyed spending time with you."

He smiles easily. "Me too."

"You're so easy to talk to, and so thoughtful . . . I think you're the most wonderful man I've ever met."

Oh no. Oh _hell_ no. This was not part of any plan he'd ever thought of.

"Ah, gee Lucille." he interrupts, desperately. "You know, I think you're pretty great too. You know what else would be great? They do this crème brulee here that's just to die for . . . "

Unfortunately she isn't that easily deterred. "Malcolm, what I'm trying to say is . . . I love you."

Months of planning. Months of work. All for nothing if he screwed up now. He clenches his fists under the table, and looks deep into her eyes. "I love you too, Lucille."

He hates himself.

Days later, in a hotel room with Danny and a million dollars worth of stolen diamonds, he gets very drunk and tells Danny loudly and repeatedly that he is never pulling another con like that again.

They both know he's lying.

5.

When Rusty gets back from Vegas, he's only slightly surprised to see Isabel waiting in the hallway, suitcase in hand. He kisses her on the cheek. "I thought you would have left by now." he says, not bothering to ask what's going on.

She pulls away. "I was waiting for you to get back. I wanted to do this properly."

"OK." He leans against the wall, and watches her.

"It's been over six months, Robert." She doesn't sound angry, just tired.

"You knew what we were doing. You knew it might take a while." He keeps his voice level and non-confrontational.

"You didn't call me for three days. You slipped out in the middle of the night, and I didn't know what had happened for three days." He considers telling her that he'd originally slipped out for a different reason, but realizes in time that that information probably wouldn't go down well.

"It wasn't your fight." It sounds just as ridiculous to him now as it did six months ago.

She laughs, ironically. "It never is."

He shrugs. "What do you want me to say?" he offers.

"Nothing. There's nothing you can say. I can live with not being your top priority. But I want to know that I at least make the top ten."

He opens his mouth, but can't find anything to say. He closes it again, slowly.

She's watching him, almost pityingly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He clears his throat. "Where will you go?" he asks, as much for something to say as anything else.

"Back to Europe. I've had a few job offers." She manages to make it sound easy.

"You were looking." he points out.

"I had no choice." she says, and he can't argue.

"I love you." he mentions, casually. It isn't a last ditch effort. It isn't even an argument; he lost this battle a long time ago.

She brushes her lips against his cheek. "Goodbye, Robert." she says, and then she's gone.

Rusty takes his own suitcase into the bedroom and begins to unpack. At least there's a lot more drawer space now.

6.

They're sitting on an anonymous sofa, in an anonymous hotel room, and Rusty's pretty sure that if they just have a few more drinks, they won't even know what State they're in anymore.

Danny appears to have been hypnotized by the Gilmore Girls, at least he hasn't looked away from the screen in about two hours. That's also the length of time since either of them said anything.

Normally, this wouldn't bother Rusty; the two of them have spent whole days in each other's company without saying a word; but today he feels the need to say something. Maybe he's getting old, maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the fact that they've been in town for three days without even discussing stealing anything, but today he wants to actually say something. To finally get something settled.

"Danny?" he begins. To his own ears he sounds nervous.

Danny grunts, and doesn't turn round.

Good start. He begins again. "Danny, you know that I . . . "

"Yep." Danny cuts him off immediately, and continues to stare at the screen.

Rusty watches him for a few minutes, but that appears to be that.

Fuck.

He turns away, not wanting to look at Danny anymore. He should have known better than to say anything. He should have just kept his mouth shut, instead of risking a twenty year partnership on a whim. The fact that they've never said it, should have told him . . .

He suddenly becomes aware that Danny has turned away from the TV, and is grinning at him, that particular grin that only Danny can produce. The one that says 'you're a moron' better than words ever could.

"What?" he asks, and hates that he can hear the hurt in his own voice.

"Of course I do." Danny says, and Rusty knows that he isn't imagining the fondness in that tone. The tone, that now he comes to think of it, he's only ever heard Danny direct at him. "I always have."

"Yeah?" he asks, hopefully.

"Yeah." Danny confirms, and shifts over ever so slightly on the sofa, so their shoulders are brushing together. "Now shut up and let me watch my program."

Rusty pours them both another glass of wine, and turns back to the TV. It's nice to have things all out in the open.

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**As I said, this fic was different in style and tone from my other ones. I would therefore be really grateful if people could tell me how they think it was. You know, what worked, and more importantly, what didn't. As ever though, any review, even a note to say you finished it is welcom**


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